


Burning Down the Motherfucking House

by sister_wolf



Series: Constable Joe [1]
Category: Hard Core Logo (1996), due South
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-05-30
Updated: 2004-05-30
Packaged: 2017-10-12 09:45:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/123547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sister_wolf/pseuds/sister_wolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I first came to fucking Chicago on the trail of the spooge-sucking cuntfaces who offed my fucking old man, and for reasons that don't need fucking exploring at this fucking juncture, asshole, I stayed. Wanna make something of it? Cause I'm good to go, fuckball."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

>   
>  I suppose it might be good if I were to do a real introduction on this, since people are likely going to be coming here and wondering what on _earth_ I've been smoking...
> 
> So, this all started in #discourse, when we were discussing casting a school play of a DS fanfic. And someone suggested casting Hugh Dillon as Benton Fraser. Which resulted in this:
> 
> "I first came to fucking Chicago on the trail of the spooge-sucking cuntfaces who offed my fucking old man, and for reasons that don't need fucking exploring at this fucking juncture, asshole, I stayed. Wanna make something of it? Cause I'm good to go, fuckball."
> 
> which I believe was written by myself, Theodosia, and Heuradys, with assistance from Lynnmonster.
> 
> All of which led to the concept of Constable Joseph "Dick" Mulgrew. Certain lines were suggested by Heuradys and Lynnmonster; I believe that Joe's dog, Shithead, was a Heuradys suggestion. Akite provided the Welsh conversation. I used a transcript from [this site](http://www.trinityslash.com/trans/index.html).

[Location: Vancouver, Canada. Constable Joseph "Dick" Mulgrew picks up the phone.]

Joe: Ray? The fuck's going on?

Vecchio: Hey, Joey, how's the vacation going?

Joe: I end up working on my fucking vacation, how's that for a crock of shit? Fuck it. How's shit in Chicago?

Vecchio: Well, you know, Joey. Chicago's Chicago. Listen, I'm just calling to let you know that I may not be there at the train to pick you up.

Joe: You sonofabitch, Ray, what am I supposed to do, fucking walk? Asshole.

Vecchio: Oh, come on. You can take a cab, Joey. That's not the point. I'm just calling to let you know that you may be on your own for a while.

Joe: What the fuck's going on, Ray?

Vecchio: Nothing's going on. Why would anything be going on? I'm just calling to let you know that I'd like to be there to pick you up but if I can't be there, it's not because I didn't want to be. It's because something came up.

Joe: The fuck, Ray? Don't shit a shitter.

Vecchio: Look, Joey, I don't know if they have a similar thing up there in Canada, but down here in America we have this thing called friendship. And this is something that a friend would do. Like, for example, if one friend calls another friend and he's supposed to meet him at a certain time and a certain place and he can't be there, he usually calls him to let him know.

Joe: And there's nothing weird going on at all, right? Yeah, I'm buying that shit.

Vecchio: Dammit, just let it go, Joey. Nothing's going on.

Joe: Fine. Dink.

Vecchio: It's good to hear your voice, Joey. Listen, uh, I want you to have a safe trip, and I will be in touch.

Joe: Whatthefuckever, Ray.

Vecchio: You understand that, uh, I will be in touch.

Joe: You better be, cocksucker. [hangs up the phone]

Vecchio: *sighs* Jesus. The mob's gonna be like a Sunday school picnic after having to deal with him for two years.


	2. Chapter 2

[Location: corridor at the 2-7]

Joe: Welsh! The fuck's going on here? Where's Vecchio?

Welsh: Constable. I see they let you back into this country. Upon reflection, I imagine that this displeases but does not surprise me.

Joe: You're too fucking kind, Welsh.

Welsh: Listen, Constable, I need to talk to you.

Officer: Lieutenant, we've got a dust up in Interview 3, and there's a guy from the IRS that says he has to talk with you.

Welsh: IRS? All right, listen, Mulgrew, there's a couple of things I got to do, but we have to talk. Try not to kill anything before I get back.

[Joe enters the squad room at the 2-7.]

Joe: Ray! Cuntface!

Ray: Joe! Buddy! You have a good time up there in the Northwest Areas?

Joe: What? I was in fucking Vancouver, asshole.

Ray: Wilderness, huh? Exactly. Me, personally, I leave the city I come down with a skin condition. Janey, you given any thought to Friday night? It would be a great first date. Crystal ballroom, the band, martinis, me. . .

Janey: My dog has a foot fungus and needs some attention.

Ray: Right. Is there a karmic chi love thing happening there or what?

Joe: Who the fuck are you? I'm looking for Ray Vecchio, motherfucker.

Ray: Uh-huh?

Joe: Ray Vecchio. Detective. Tall skinny guy, big fucking nose. Ring a bell, asshole?

Ray: You talked to Welsh, right?

Joe: Yeah, what the fuck of it?

Ray: Good, so we're on the right track. I'm glad you're back, Joe, 'cause things have not been the same around here.

Joe: No shit.

Ray: And you want to know why?

Joe: As a matter of motherfucking fact, yeah, I do.

Ray: Take a look back through history and what do you see?

Joe: Are you fucking high?

Ray: Nah, I'm metaphorizing.

Huey: Joe, you found him. Good.

Ray: What do you see, over and over, is this. Duets. Okay?

Jimmy: Hey, Ray, what's up?

Ray: Jimmy, you owe me a fin from last week! - Think about it. Lenon and McCartney, Leopold and Loeb, The Three Stooges. Strictly speaking, they were a trio, but in my opinion they should have dropped Larry right from the start because you could see the guy he just was not committed to it. Anyway, I think you know what I'm talking about.

Joe: You _are_ fucking high. You better have some to share, asshole.

Ray: Partners, Joe. Partners. . . Elaine, you got that stuff on the Docklands?

Joe: Who the fuck _are_ you?

Ray: Quit kidding around, Joe. You know who I am.

Joe: I'm not fucking joking, fuckface.

Elaine: Here you go, Ray. Files 1 through 7, and the background on the Johnson case.

Joe: Listen, asshole, I've never seen you before in my fucking life, so lemme introduce myself. My name's Constable Joe Mulgrew, Royal Canadian Motherfucking Police. I first came to fucking Chicago on the trail of the spooge-sucking fuckfaces who offed my fucking old man, and for reasons that don't need fucking exploring at this fucking juncture, asshole, I stayed. While I've been fucking stuck in this shitty town, I've developed what you would call a fucking duet with Raymond fucking Vecchio, detective first grade, CP fucking D. So stop pretending to be him or I swear to fucking god I'll rip your testicles off and shove them down your motherfucking throat.

Ray: Raymond Vecchio, detective first grade, Chicago Police Department. Everyone here knows who I am, Joe, how about you?

[phone rings]

Ray: Ray Vecchio. . . Yeah, like something off a Christmas tree, with Tourette's?. . . [to Joe] For you.


	3. Chapter 3

Ray: Ray Vecchio. . . Yeah, like something off a Christmas tree, with Tourette's?. . . [to Joe] For you.

Voice: Listen, what a shame about your apartment building. Homeless, huh? What an ugly word. Well, you can always move in with your friend Vecchio.

Joe: He's not my fucking friend, asshole.

Voice: Oh, well, great. Then you probably won't sweat the fact that his electric blanket's getting the family home all nice and toasty.

Joe [to Ray]: Listen, I have no idea who the fuck you are, but if you're gonna keep pretending to be Ray Vecchio, you might want to know that your fucking house is about to burn the fuck down.

[Location: outside the 2-7]

Ray: We'll take my car!

Joe: Oh, please, don't even fucking tell me. Your car is a 1971 puke green Buick Riviera.

Ray: Yep.

Joe: Hell, why the fuck not?. . . [to Shithead (an ugly junkyard dog with the personality of a constipated warthog)] Let's just fucking play along, Shithead.

[Location: the Riv]

Ray: Why can't I drive?

Joe: I always fucking drive, and if you were Ray Vecchio, you'd fucking know that.

Ray: But it's my car.

Joe: Suck it up, dickface.

[Shithead begins to lick Ray's ear]

Ray: God! Stop it!

Joe: Stop what?

Ray: What he's doing to me, the things he's doing to me!

Joe: Shit, I think he likes you. Or else...

Ray: Or else what?

Joe: Or he thinks you'd make a fucking tasty snack. Just be glad he ain't humping your fucking leg.

Ray: He's doing disgusting things to my ear! Get him off me!

Joe: He doesn't fucking listen to me. He's deaf. I found him backstage at a DOA concert in '92, which you'd fucking _know_ if you were Ray Vecchio.

Ray: Gah! What the hell is that _smell_?

Joe: He reads lips though. You gotta fucking enunciate.

Ray: Get off me exclamation mark!


	4. Chapter 4

[Location: Evanston Institution for the Criminally Insane]

Ray: Okay, this is how we're going to play this mook. You do the legwork, I'll hang in the background.

Joe: You don't want to fucking be seen.

Ray: I'll be seen when I need to be seen.

Joe: Bullshit.

Ray: Bullshit, what do you mean?

Joe: Eh. Nothing.

Ray: See, when somebody says, 'bullshit,' it usually means something. . . What?

Joe: You're a persistent motherfucker, ain'tcha?

[Location: Institute corridor]

Ray: What do you mean?

Joe: I mean you don't fucking give an inch, even when you're obviously full of shit--

Ray: No, not that. When you said, 'bullshit.' What did you mean by that?

Joe: Ray fucking Vecchio arrested Zoltan Motherwell. So he ain't gonna know you from fucking Adam.

Ray: You know something? You're a Doubting Thomas. . . [to guard] You got those files I ordered?

Guard: Yeah, here you go.

Ray: You see? We're like a one-two punch. A duet. You set 'em up, I knock 'em down. You set 'em up, I knock 'em down.

Joe: Yeah. Then I stomp on their motherfucking heads.

[Location: room]

Motherwell: I have no regrets, Constable. I now live a life of simplicity and purpose. I couldn't live like this before when I was a slave. Do you understand me?

Joe: You're so full of shit, Motherwell. What the fuck were you a slave to?

Motherwell: Everything. To everything. Canvas, paint, dealers, galleries, fashion, falsehood. A slave, until. . . Come here. . . Closer. . . Closer.

Joe: What, you wanna blow me or something? I think this is fucking close enough.

Motherwell: Until I realized it could be reduced to ashes. Wiped clean.

Joe: Ohhh, I get it. They've got you on the _good_ drugs.

Ray: You get it. I don't believe this.

Motherwell: Who is he?

Joe: That's what I'd fucking like to know. Okay, here's the fucking deal, Motherwell. Someone on the outside is doing your dirty work for you. Fucker burnt down my motherfucking apartment building.

Motherwell: Oh, that's tragic. But that's the nature of artistic movements. I was merely the first great performance arsonist. Of course there'll be followers, imitators, possibly a school -

Ray: All right, okay, I've had enough of this. You see, my friend here, he's Canadian. He's polite-- well, no, he's not polite, but he is patient. Sort of. He'll let you ramble on about this namby-pamby art crap. But me? I don't know what art is. But I know what I like, and you, dirtball, I don't like.

Motherwell: Who are you?

Ray: Hey, shut your trap! You look into my eyes! You look deep into my eyes! What do you see? You see the guy? Do you see the guy? The guy that put you in here?! Right?! Right?! Right?! Right?! Good!. . . Let's talk about his copycat torch that's walking the streets that's got your signature, which means you know the torch.

Joe: Not fucking bad, cocksucker. I'm almost impressed.

Ray: Thank you.

Motherwell: How could I possibly have anything to do with this? I'm incarcerated.

Ray: Okay, I got a phone log here. Three phone calls made by you. Two by payphone. One to 555-0188. That's a district of the Chicago Police Department. My district, my department, my phone. In fact, I picked up the phone, concerning my house.

Motherwell: Possibly.

Ray: Possibly. Visitors Log. One visitor, marked 'girlfriend' with no name. Now you cough up a name or it is all aboard for fun time, and I will kick your head all over this room!

Motherwell: I think I need to see my attorney.

Ray: Sure, you'll get to see your attorney, right after I break your jaw!

Motherwell: Is he going to hit me?

Joe: If he ain't, I fucking will.

Ray: No, I'm going to kick you in the head. But first, let's talk about your girlfriend.

Motherwell: I have nothing to say.

Ray: Gentlemen! Five!

Motherwell: It's ridiculous!

Ray: Four.

Motherwell: He's going to hit me!

Ray: Three.

Joe: No, he said _kick_ you. In the head. Get it right, fuckface.

Ray: Two.

Joe: Then I'm gonna introduce your fucking face to Mr. Wall and Mr. Floor.

Ray: One.

Motherwell: No, wait, wait, wait. All right. What do you want to know?

Ray: How about a name?

Motherwell: Greta Garbo.

Ray: A real name!

Motherwell: Greta Garbo! It's a real name. She has a thing, an obsession, with privacy. She changed it legally.

Ray: Whereabouts?

Motherwell: The last time I talked with her, she lived on Shuter Street, 271.

Joe: Thank you kindly, cocksucker.

Motherwell: Glad to help.

Ray: I think that went well. See, we've got that duet thing going! It's like we're, uh--

Joe: Bad cop, homicidal cop?

Ray: Yeah.


	5. Chapter 5

[Burning rubber, the Riviera pulls away from the Consulate, with Joe driving and Ray in the passenger seat. Shithead whines from the back seat.]

Ray: I don't believe this. She's followed us every step of the way. Up the street from my house, at the mental institution, and now here.

Joe: [Waves a Dunkin Donuts box, which he stole from Sven.] Want a donut?

Ray: We're chasing a torch and you're thinking about food?

Joe: [shrugs] Suit yourself. [tosses a donut to Shithead]

Ray: You know, that dog's got a real problem with gas.

Joe: You should smell him after a pepperoni pizza. It's fucking hallucinogenic.

Ray: Eeeuw. I did not need to know that. Hey! She's headed for the freeway.

Joe: I'm not fucking blind, asshole. I can see that.

Ray: Okay, so now we are following you. You been watching your handiwork but now we are behind you. You got anymore donuts?

Joe: Nope. [Shithead belches.]

Ray: Hey, you know, I've been thinking. She's been following us around all this time to watch her handiwork. What if she's still doing that?

Joe: How? We're following her in a fucking car.

Ray: Yeah, exactly. And all she has to do is look in her rearview mirror and watch us burst into flames.

Joe: The fuck are you talking about, burst into flames?

Ray: Stay with the van. Don't lose her.

Joe: What the fuck do you mean, don't lose her? We could be crispy fucking critters here in a few seconds. . . Hey, hey, hey, what the fuck are you doing?

[Ray crawls over the backseat and starts searching the back of the car.]

Ray: I'm trying to find the igniter.

Joe: Well how about we stop the fucking car and locate the igniter?

Ray: Stopping the car could _be_ the igniter.

Joe: Well, fuck.

Ray: [searching the interior of the car] Look, you know something, you're a freak. And kind of an asshole. But in spite of that, I'm going to tell you something. This may not be the best time but I'd like to say it before we go up in smoke. I feel a little pink about it 'cause I realize no one talked to you... Well, the upshot is I go in and they say, hey, you want a job and I go... I was weak, I was down. I say, well I'll think about it. And I'm thinking about it. Hey, my life's not great at the moment. I think maybe I can use a change, a change of scene, a change of luck, go undercover, get a new life. Then they say, do you want to work with this guy --

Joe: Fuck, she's taking the exit!

Ray: [crawling back into the passenger seat] And that's about it. I mean, I could say more, but that is how I got here. So what do you think?

Joe: About what?

Ray: About what? I spill my guts and you say 'about what'?

Joe: What the fuck are you talking about?

Ray: What I was just saying, you didn't hear any of it?

Joe: No, I'm a little fucking distracted here, what with driving a car that might blow up any fucking second-- What the fuck is she doing?

Ray: She's slowing down.

[Joe hits the horn.]

Ray: No!

[Smoke starts pouring from underneath the dashboard.]

Joe: Shit. Well, I guess we located the igniter.

Ray: Guess so.

Joe: Okay, this is where I get the fuck out of this rolling deathtrap.

Ray: You can't do that!

Joe: Fuck you! I'm not driving this fucking thing anymore!

Ray: Do not stop the car!

[Ray grabs Joe's right leg.]

Joe: Look-- what the fuck are you doing? Are you _trying_ to cop a feel? Cause I gotta tell you, your aim fucking sucks!

Ray: Get your foot off the brake.

Joe: I'm trying to stop this fucking thing!

Ray: You can't stop the car!

Joe: Not with you holding onto my fucking leg, I can't. Let go!

Ray: Look, we can't stop the car here. There's too many people around.

Joe: The car's gonna fucking blow up!

Ray: No, it's not! I heard they only blow up in the movies.

[The hood of the Riviera blows off. Flame and smoke billow from the engine.]

Ray: I guess they were wrong about that.

Joe: Shit, we gotta find someplace to dump the car.

Ray: A parking lot?

Joe: Nah, too crowded. Grant Park?

Ray: No, there's gonna be kids all over the place-- hey, whoa!

Joe: What?!

Ray: Car wash.

Joe: Out-fucking-standing.

[The Riv goes through a car wash, comes out the other side, still on fire.]

Ray: What is this, some kind of superfire?

Joe: Fuck! Maybe I shouldn't have pressed the hot wax option.

Ray: Now what?

Joe: The lake!

Ray: Lake Michigan?

Joe: You know any other fucking lakes around here?

Ray: Lake Michigan.

Joe: Yep.

Ray: Straight in?

Joe: Straight the fuck in.

Ray: Listen, in case something happens, I just want you to know, it's been a pleasure meeting you.

Joe: See, you fucking admit we've never met!

Ray: I'm not admitting anything.

Joe: See? What'd I say? You _are_ a persistent motherfucker.

Ray: It's been weird, but it's been a pleasure.

Joe: Right back atcha, cuntface.

Ray: What?

Ray & Joe: Fuuuuuuuuuck!!!

[The Riv smashes through a crate of rubber duckies and soars into the lake, then sinks like a stone, still burning. A blue van pulls up and Greta Garbo gets out. She looks out over the wreckage and smirks, then turns to head back to her van. Shithead crawls out of the lake, whining. A battered Stetson flies out of the lake and hits Shithead in the ass. Greta runs to her van as Joe and Ray crawl out of the lake.]

Joe: _Fuck_ , that sucked. I am never fucking doing that again.

[Greta has returned with a gun, which she cocks and points at them.]

Garbo: He's a fine painter.

Joe: Listen, you psychotic bitch, I just drove a flaming fucking Buick Riviera into Lake Michigan. Do _not_ fuck with me.

Garbo: A great artist.

Ray: Put the gun down.

Garbo: And I'm carrying on his work.

Ray: I said, put the gun down.

[Greta raises her gun. Joe draws his gun and shoots Greta. As she falls, her gun goes off. Ray, in the act of stepping in front of Joe, gets hit and goes down.]

Joe: Fuck!!!

[Joe kicks the gun away from Greta's hand and roughly handcuffs her. Shithead whines and licks Ray's ear.]

Joe: [shaking Ray] Fuck! Ray! Ray!

Ray: [opens his eyes and grins] Ta-dah! [lifts his shirt, revealing Kevlar vest]

Joe: You fucking asshole! I thought you were dead! I'm gonna kill you myself--

Ray: You called me Ray.

Joe: No, I didn't.

Ray: Yeah, you did.

Joe: No, I didn't, cocksucker!

Ray: Yeah, you did.

Joe: Fuck off. Come on, asshole. [gives Ray a hand up]

Ray: You know I'm Ray. Don't fight it, Joseph, my friend.

Joe: I don't know what the fuck you've been smoking, but you are not Ray. You don't even fucking look like him.

Ray: I could have had plastic surgery.

Joe: You're on crack.

Ray: I got papers to prove it. I'll show you.

Joe: Bullshit.

Ray: I'm Ray.

Joe: If you're Ray, then who's your favorite, Ginger or Mary Anne?

Ray: Ah, that smarts when you get shot.

Joe: Yeah, that's what I fucking thought.

[They walk along the pier. Shithead runs ahead of them and starts digging through a dumpster.]

Ray: Hey, you wanna get pizza or something later?

Joe: Depends.

Ray: On what?

Joe: Depends on whether you wanna fuck later.

Ray: [Pauses. Blinks.] That wasn't in Vecchio's jacket. I didn't realize you two were--

Joe: We weren't.

Ray: Oh.

Joe: So?

Ray: [Gives Joe a long look. Grins.] Joseph, my friend, I think this could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

[End.]


End file.
